


any way you want it (hold on, hold on, hold on)

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: “Hello Bluff City! We are the Investigators!” said Florence, her words almost drowned out by the crowd’s response. “How are you all doing tonight?”Florence returns from a long tour and meets a strangely-familiar face.
Relationships: Patty Fink/Florence Slowly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	any way you want it (hold on, hold on, hold on)

**Author's Note:**

> title from [_any way you want it by journey._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atxUuldUcfI)

There truly was nothing like the roar of the crowd. Florence could feel it in her veins, thrumming through her, the crowd chanting for them as they prepared to go on stage.

“Ready?” said Tyler.

“Of course,” said Florence. She glanced behind her. “Chris?”

Chris spun the drumsticks in her hands once, twice - a nervous habit. She nodded. Florence nodded back in what she hoped was a comforting way. She let out a breath.

“All right, it’s a hometown crowd out there, so” said Florence. “Here we go.”

She stepped out on the stage, Tyler and Chris following behind her. The cheering of the crowd was loud enough to almost feel physical, the stage already hot from the lights and the packed room. Perhaps they should have gone with the larger venue after all.

“Hello Bluff City! We are the Investigators!” said Florence, her words almost drowned out by the crowd’s response. “How are you all doing tonight?”

The crowd roared in response. A woman with long curly hair let out a loud  _ whoop _ from the front row, waving her denim jacket about her head. Florence smiled down at her, her expression widening to a grin as the woman blushed.

She heard Tyler’s huff of laughter behind her and turned slightly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Sounds like they’re doing pretty good,” said Tyler.

The crowd cheered in response.

“Well,” said Florence, “Let’s see if we can make their night even better.”

She liked to think that they did. The crowd certainly seemed into it, even for their newer stuff, going wild at Tyler’s slightly-too-long-in-her-opinion keyboard solo. Still, it was an excellent show, the adrenaline from it enough to convince her to go out with Chris and Tyler afterwards.

Florence would normally have just gone back to whatever hotel they were staying at, but the combination of a good show and being back in Bluff City after a long tour made the idea of sequestering herself away less appealing than it ordinarily would have. She trailed a little behind Chris and Tyler as they walked along the boardwalk, arguing over the best bar to go to, ignoring the people who stared at them as they passed and pausing occasionally to sign autographs.

She slowed her steps outside a still-open newsagents to look at the postcards. She had something of a tradition of sending her daughter a postcard from whatever city she was in, perhaps she’d buy one for Bluff City and give it to her while they were in town.

“There are cheaper ones a block over,” said a voice behind her.

Florence turned to see a tall woman with long curly hair peering at her from over the rack of magazines. Florence frowned. She was positive that she didn’t know the woman, but there was something familiar about her. She felt as though she  _ almost _ recognised her.

“What?”

“The postcards,” said the woman, “They’re cheaper a block over. They overcharge because if you’re shopping on the boardwalk you’re probably a tourist.”

“How do you know I’m not a tourist?”

The woman’s eyes crinkled. “I’ve seen you around. You’re in a band, right?”

“I might be,” said Florence, “I-”

“Florence!” called Chris, “Are you still coming?”

“Guess you’d better go,” said the woman. “Maybe I’ll see you around while you’re in town.”

Florence turned towards where Chris’s voice had come from. “Yes, be right there!” 

She turned back to ask the woman where, exactly, were the cheaper postcards, but the woman was gone.

Florence got a discount on the postcards anyway. The newsagents owner’s wife was a fan, apparently, and so they barely cost her more than a signature.

The bar Tyler and Chris had agreed on was a little cramped, plush booths crowding the walls and high tables almost making a labyrinth to get through to get to the bar. It was the kind of place where people stared at them but were trying to keep up the facade of being too cool to physically swamp them, meaning that they could spend their time their mostly unbothered.

Chris staked out a table while Florence went to get their drinks, feeling eyes on her as she pushed through the crowd. Tyler wandered over to the jukebox machine, where if past behaviour was any indicator, he would flick through the options for twenty minutes before deciding on a Bruce Springsteen song.

Florence scanned the bar as she waited to catch the bartender’s attention. Her eyes caught on long curly hair framing an oddly-familiar face. It was the woman from the newsagent. She smirked at Florence, raising her glass at her from across the bar. Florence glanced behind her, where Chris was waiting. There were a few people gathered at their booth now, a woman their age in a floaty dress and a teen with an impressive amount of piercings, so Florence didn’t feel too bad about delaying Chris’s drink a little bit.

She pushed through the crowded bar towards the woman. The woman grinned at her, turning on her stool to face Florence and leaning her elbows back on the bar. There was that feeling again, that she knew this woman from somewhere, just on the tip of Florence’s tongue.

“Hi, hello,” said the woman.

“Are you  _ following  _ me?” said Florence.

“What? No,” said the woman, “this is where I normally go. I could ask you the same question.”

“Oh.”

“So are you?”

Florence frowned. “Am I what?”

“Are  _ you _ following _ me _ ?” said the woman.

“No-”

The woman laughed, a cackle bright enough to be heard over the sound of the crowded bar. Florence felt her lips quirk upwards in a grin despite herself.

“So,” said the woman, “Did you get those postcards?”

“I did, actually,” said Florence, “And I believe I was given a reasonable price.”

“Most people do,” said the woman, stirring her drink with her straw. “You in town long?”

“A few weeks,” said Florence.

“Maybe I’ll see you around some more,” said the woman.

Florence did let herself smile at that. “Maybe you will-”

Someone pushed into her from behind on their way to get to the bar, sending Florence into the woman, bracing her hands on the bar either side of her so as not to knock into her drink, their bodies almost-but-not-quite touching one another. The woman’s eyes went wide, a slow flush spreading over her cheeks.

“Um. Hi.”

Florence laughed softly. “Sorry.”

“Totally fine,” said the woman, her voice strained. “Definitely fine.”

“Normally when I’m this close to someone I get their name first,” said Florence, not stepping back.

The woman swallowed. “Patty.”

“Patty,” said Florence. “Well. Nice to meet you, Patty.”

A Bruce Springsteen song began to drift from the jukebox, reminding Florence of the world outside. She leaned back, warmth spreading through her at the way Patty leaned after her just a little, her body following Florence’s.

“I have to go buy my friends a drink,” said Florence, “but I’m playing another show downtown tomorrow night, if you want to come.”

Patty blinked. “I- yeah, definitely, absolutely, uh, here-”

Patty wriggled her hand into her tight pocket, shimmying on the stool a little to pull out a crumpled business card.

“All of my details are on there,” said Patty, “I mean,  _ all  _ of them.”

Florence took the card without looking at it, tucking it into her pocket. “Well then. See you tomorrow night.”

“Yeah,” breathed Patty. She cleared her throat. “If you have time. And if I have time.”

Florence nodded, hiding a smile as she pushed her way back to an open spot in the bar. By the time she’d managed to get back to their booth, Chris and Tyler already had drinks.

Florence frowned. “I didn’t take  _ that _ long.”

“We didn’t get them,” said Tyler, “They’re from some woman.”

“Oh?” said Florence, keeping her tone carefully casual, “Do you know who?”

Tyler shrugged. “Some woman over there.”

Florence and Chris looked in the direction of his vague gesture. Across the other side of the room, Patty raised her glass to them, lifting the straw to her lips and taking a long drink. Her eyes never left Florence’s.

“ _ That _ woman sent these?” said Chris, “ _ Patty Fink _ ?”

“You know her?” said Florence, her gaze still caught on Patty’s.

“She’s probably just angling for an interview,” said Chris.

“Why wouldn’t she just go through Hector for the interview like everyone else?” said Florence.

“She probably doesn’t want her questions vetted,” said Chris.

Florence took a sip of her drink and tried not to look at anyone in particular.

“Did she say anything when she gave you the drinks?” asked Chris.

“She didn’t give them to me,” said Tyler, “the bartender did, he just said they were from her, and she keeps staring at us, so she probably  _ did _ send them.”

Florence’s eyes drifted back to the spot where Patty had been, but like earlier that night, Patty was gone. Her fingers went to her pocket, her thumb tracing over the crinkled edge of the business card. A reporter. So that was where she knew Patty from, perhaps she’d read some of her articles or interviews, although it wouldn’t explain why Patty’s grin seemed so  _ familiar _ .

“Florence?” asked Chris.

Florence blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. “Sorry, yes?”

“We were saying we’ll probably finish these and then head back to the hotel, rest up for the gig tomorrow,” said Chris. She frowned, leaning forward a little to put her hand over Florence’s. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Florence quickly. “Not used to coming out after a show, that’s all.”

Tyler laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit that you were out of practise at something.”

“I’m not out of practise,” said Florence, “I’m just not used to it.”

She fell easily into the rhythm of their conversation, half her mind still caught on the memory of Patty’s sharp smile and the feeling of her crumpled business card, tucked in Florence’s pocket like a secret.

Like going out after a show, she was also unused to keeping a secret from Chris and Tyler. She hurried them through their last mouthfuls, urging them back to the hotel and wishing them goodnight before she could finally,  _ finally _ , take the worn business card out of her pocket and actually look at it.

_ Patty Fink _

_ Bluff City Current _

_ Freelance Reporter _

_ “No secret too small for a story.” _

Under it was the main office line for the Bluff City Current, Patty’s email, and an address for ‘unmonitored drop offs’. Patty had also written her mobile number underneath in red pen.  _ Call me any time :) _

Florence tapped the business card on her palm, thinking. It was probably too late to call, even if calling way a good idea, which it almost certainly wasn’t. Calling a mysterious appearing-disappearing reporter after midnight felt like something she herself would advise someone against. She put the business card under her phone on her nightstand, and went to bed.

An hour of thinking about how bad of an idea it was later, she turned the bedside lamp back on and looked at the card again.

She settled on sending a text. After all, it was late, Patty would undoubtedly be asleep-

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

  1. _Fink: Good to hear from you_.



My bandmate tells me that you’re a reporter of some kind.

  1. _Fink: I might be._



This is a long way to go to get a story.

  1. _Fink: I’m not on the music beat._
  2. _Fink: I’d be too biased to do a story on you even I was, the editors would never let it get through._



Biased?

  1. _Fink: I’ve kind of seen every show you’ve played here_. _I got your first album when they were still sold on cassette tapes out of The Break’s studio. I’ve liked you for a while._



Florence blinked. That… wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. She closed her eyes, setting her phone on her chest. She had a pretty good memory for faces, perhaps she could place Patty- Oh.

You were in the front row tonight, she wrote back to Patty.

  1. _Fink: I usually am. I’ve got sharp elbows and I’m not afraid to use them to get what I want_.



Florence paused, tapping her fingers on the side of her phone.

  1. _Fink: Sorry, I thought I was going to be smoother about this_.



Florence huffed a laugh.

It’s fine. I’m flattered really.

  1. _Fink: Flattered enough to let me come to tomorrow’s show?_



I have a feeling that I couldn’t really stop you.

  1. _Fink: I wouldn’t if it would make you uncomfortable! I got to see you tonight, at least_.



Florence swallowed. It had been a while since she’d had that kind of response, that she wasn’t just a famous property to produce content, that their shows were her’s too. Usually, she only got to feel like that on stage. She paused a moment before replying.

You should come.

The paused before Patty’s next message was even longer than her’s.

  1. _Fink: See you tomorrow_.



Florence stared at the message for a long time before she finally turned off the screen and closed her eyes.

The next day was a blur, rushing from the hotel to sound check to a radio interview, then back for one last check before the crowd came in. She peeked through the curtain, although the angle from backstage wasn’t good enough to see anyone clear enough if, say, for example, you were trying to spot a particular person.

“Florence?” said Tyler, “You ready?”

Florence took a breath in and let it out slowly. “Yeah.” She turned, as already, looking back for Chris. “Chris?”

Chris nodded, twirling the drumsticks in her hands. “Let’s do this.”

Florence waited until the lighting was flashing wildly before she headed on stage, the roar of the crowd vibrating through her. Her eye scanned the front row, searching for a now-familiar mane of curly hair.

“Hello Bluff City! We are the Investigators! How are-”

There she was, right where she said she’d be, right at the front. The stage lighting illuminated Patty’s flushed cheeks and her wide, warm grin.

Luckily the roar of the crowd had drowned out the way her voice had trailed off, even if Chris was giving her an odd look as she took her place behind the drums. Florence wet her lips, considering Chris for a moment.

She leant slightly away from the mic. “You guys okay with deviating from the setlist for the first song?”

Chris raised her eyebrows, but nodded.

“Sure,” said Tyler, “To what?”

“You’ll know it,” said Florence. She leaned closer to the mic. “This first song goes out to a woman I met recently, it’s kind of an old one, but I think she’ll like it and I think you will too.”

Florence launched into the first verse of  _ No Greater Love _ , the oldest song of their’s that they still played, their first song that had even played on  _ The Break _ off of an old cassette that Tyler had managed to bribe them into playing on air. She didn’t have favourite songs of their’s, as a rule, but she always secretly broke that rule for this song.

She stepped back for Tyler’s verse, looking down at Patty.

_ Hi _ , she mouthed.

_ Hey, hello _ , Patty mouthed back.

Florence grinned, biting her lip to try to contain the expression. Patty grinned back up at her, singing along to every word.

For a moment the rest of the crowd, the stage, everything faded away, and they were the only two people in the room. A simple duet, the way she used to sing it when they were kids messing around in Tyler’s cousin’s garage, trying to start a band.

_ There is no greater love, no greater love, no greater love. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
